


Bed and Breakfast

by RurouniHime



Series: Sarah-verse [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain Fucking America, Children, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Kid Fic, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Parenthood, Protective Steve, Reporters don't know when to quit, Sleepy Cuddles, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some smallish people have absolutely no respect for mornings.</p><p>(In which Tony doesn't get to sleep in, and neither does Steve, but that's alright in the end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed and Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not One of Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/961678) by [RurouniHime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime). 



> **This is a timestamp in the Not One of Blood universe, and takes place a couple years BEFORE that story.**  
>   
> 
> To paraphrase a favorite movie, "Oh my gawd, it's so fluffy I'm gonna diiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee!!!!!"
> 
> So very much fluff. Fluff, fluff, fluff. Did I mention it was fluffity?
> 
>  
> 
>  **Other works in this universe:** [Wherever I Find Myself](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1427317)

“Papa.”

“Huh.”

 _“No,_ Papa.” Something shakes Tony’s arm. He jumps, flailing until the blanket stops him.

“Hmmwhat.”

“Time for Kermit.”

“S’not time for Kermit,” Tony yawns and blinks at Sarah. “Kermit doesn’t get up till noon.”

“Papaaaaaaaa.” She goes up and down an octave on either side of the word and shakes his arm as hard as she can. Which is hard enough. Tony grabs her around the waist and hauls her up with half a mind to just tuck her under the quilt next to him and be done with it. Sarah blows a raspberry against his face.

“That is so disgusting, for the love of god, have mercy.”

“No. You get up.”

“Coercion,” Tony sighs, and flops back into the mound of pillows. Sarah takes his arm again, and he stills her hands. “I’m up. I am.”

“Yay!” She thumps both hands onto his chest and Tony _oof_ s to the sound of feet running out of the room and down the hall. “Papa, I want a bulgy waffle!”

“She wants a bulgy waffle.” Tony rubs his face. “We don’t have a Belgian waffle maker. Babe, we don’t have a Belgian waffle maker, right?”

The mound of covers beside him twitches, and a groan issues forth. “Too early.”

Tony pushes up on his elbows and stares at the blanket mound. “Did _my_ husband just say those words?”

“Yes.” The covers roil more violently, and Steve’s arm snakes around Tony’s chest, snugging him in so tightly that he _oof_ s again. “You have responsibilities.”

“That a fact?” He pulls the covers over his head and meets Steve’s… well, his face, mashed against Tony’s chest.

“Feeling highly underappreciated here,” Steve mumbles. His leg climbs around Tony’s and cinches him even tighter.

“I’m sure.”

“Papa!”

“This is your dad’s fault,” Tony calls, wrestling the blanket down a little way. “I’m sorry, but I’m powerless here.”

“Traitor,” Steve mutters, pushing up into a dirty kiss. “Whatever happened to in sickness and in health?”

“That’s just low.”

“For richer or poorer?”

“Ha.”

Steve nibbles at his throat. “With children or without?”

“That was _not_ part of our vows.”

“Oversight.”

“I have to go make—” Steve kisses him again. “Make a bulgy waffle out,” again, “out of a regular one. Should I, I don’t know, cut it into—babe, into a circle or—”

“Shhh,” Steve says against his mouth.

Tony squirms against him, turning his head to find a better angle. “She’ll be back in here in a second.”

“Let’s take her out to eat.” Steve rolls Tony onto his back beneath the blanket and settles atop him, rocking teasingly.

“That works.” Tony pushes him up, then changes his mind and pulls him back down. It’s dark and soft under here, absolutely full of Steve’s scent.

And then running feet again, a squawk, and a bruising thump on his knees. _“Papa.”_

Tony throws the covers off his head for good. “I said I was totally powerless. No one listens to me.”

“I’m hungry.”

“So’m I,” Steve teases, still under the blanket, and gnaws on Tony’s ribs. Tony shouts and flails, nearly sending Sarah to the floor.

“Geneva Convention,” he gasps, pushing Steve’s face away from his middle. Steve snorts and nuzzles further into Tony’s side.

 _“I_ never signed anything.”

“Papa, come on.”

“Why don’t you ask your daddy? He’s much closer to your age. I’m old, I need my rest.” He yanks the blanket down and bares Steve’s tousled head, hair sticking up all over the place and morning scruff in sandy patches along his jaw. Sarah frowns at him and Steve blinks back with a fuzzy, forlorn look.

After much debate, Sarah screws her mouth up. “No. Daddy can sleep.”

“That’s my girl,” Steve says, at the same time as Tony huffs in mock outrage. Sarah leans up onto her knees and starts pressing Steve’s eyelids closed, smoothing with the heels of her hands. “Oh. Oh, right this second?”

“You have to let go of Papa. I‘m hungry.”

“Me, too,” Steve says slowly. He sits up, gathering the blanket in both hands. “Really hungry, actually. You know what, I think it’s that time.”

“What time?”

“It’s _that_ time,” Steve repeats ominously, and Sarah’s eyes widen. She scrambles backward, but Steve’s much too quick: he lunges and grabs her with both arms, burrito-ing her in the blanket, then tackling her sideways and reaching out for Tony. “Sarah sandwich!”

She shrieks and kicks, but Tony’s already wrapping Steve close, snuggling her in between their chests.

“Mm, I love this kind of sandwich.”

“Top ten,” Steve agrees.

“Not a sandwich!”

Steve pretends to bite her and she laughs, floundering in the bedding.

**

“Let’s get her dinges.”

Steve scoffs, gracefully sidestepping a duo of running boys on the sidewalk. “Of course we’re getting her dinges. Who doesn’t want dinges on their waffle?”

“No, I want syrup,” Sarah says from where she’s perched high in Steve’s left arm.

“And butter?”

Sarah nods. “And butter.”

“That’s what they call them all, sweetheart.” Tony tugs on her foot. “Dinges.”

“Oh.”

“We want a cab?”

Steve eyes the sky. There are clouds, but also sunlight stabbing through, and even with the strident breeze, the temperature is too spring-like for February. “No, I think a walk would be okay.”

Tony dons his sunglasses. “Peaches, it’s still chilly, put your hat back on.”

“But—”

“Right now.”

She mopes at Steve, and Steve doesn’t even look away from the sidewalk ahead, just raises his eyebrows and purses his lips in that ‘them’s the breaks’ look that Tony loves to kiss off his face, especially when Steve has gone and used it on Fury for the team’s benefit.

Sarah crams her hat back on her head.

Three lengthy blocks down, she’s on her feet, jumping in circles between them and narrowly missing all manner of objects as she tells them about Natasha’s latest plans for Girls’ Night. It’s a once a week thing that, as far as Tony can tell, involves movies, pajamas, spy mustaches, and big bubble-makers that mess up the bathroom. Tony nods in response to the exciting tale of wearing giant Mickey Mouse shoes to the grocery store, nudging Sarah safely around a bike rack. A moment later, Steve takes the brunt of a lamppost with a muted grunt as Sarah careens unknowingly off his leg rather than the metal pole.

“...and strawberries and the purple sprinkles, and she said I can stay up and eat cupcakes! Papa, I’m tired.” She spins on Tony, tugging at his jacket with both hands and whining the last word. The crowd is getting thicker as the streets widen. Up at the waffle truck, the customers are two rows deep, yelling out their orders to be heard over the traffic. 

Tony narrows his eyes. Not all of them are customers. “Okay if Daddy holds you?”

“Yeah!” She jumps up as Steve scoops her off the ground and settles her firmly back into the crook of his arm. “I want a syrup dinga.”

“We’ll definitely get you a syrup dinga.” Steve falls behind Tony just a bit as they wind their way past the loiterers who already have their waffles, searching for the end of the line.

It takes a grand total of five seconds for the two reporters to cotton on. Standards are clearly slipping.

“Gotta find a new beat again,” Tony murmurs, and Steve nods. His face remains passive, pleasant, and he turns Sarah to the menu, pointing out all the other things she could get along with her syrup and butter.

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, you’re a waffle fan?”

“Isn’t everyone?” Tony smiles, the type of grin he knows unsettles others when they can’t see his eyes. He nods a polite dismissal before the next question can be broached, and sidles in closer to Steve, for all outward appearances intent upon the menu.

“Captain Rogers, is that the elusive daughter?” The excitement in the reporter’s voice reminds Tony of a kid having just discovered a wad of twenties on the sidewalk. The guy zeroes in on Steve’s left, eeling through the crowd. “Can we speak with her? Honey, over here!”

Steve’s turn is gradual, pacing the reporter with a barely noticeable awareness. Every step the man takes, Steve turns their daughter a step further away. “We’re going to skip it today,” he says amicably.

“Just one question, honey, how does it feel to—”

“No,” Steve states, flat. “Thank you.”

“Is this a tradition? Do your dads take you out for waffles every weekend?”

Steve doesn’t grind his teeth in public, but Tony knows exactly what to look for to see that this guy is standing on increasingly shaky ground. “I’m out with my family today and not interested in doing an interview.”

“Just her name, please, that’s all, _please._ Captain Rogers, the world wants to know who this adorable—”

“Hey, pumpkin, want to pick something out for Bruce?” Steve says, to Sarah only. She snaps her eyes away from the reporter and lowers her hand from her mouth where she’d started chewing on her mitten. “He likes speculoos.”

“What’s speculoos?”

“I have no idea.”

“Captain Rogers, is it safe to assume that—”

Tony steps right in front of the reporter. “First of all, never assume with this guy. Second, there is no second. Goodbye.”

“Mr. Stark—”

“Nope, we’re done.”

The reporter’s face darkens, and _that’s_ more like it. Sure enough— “Mr. Stark, there’s no need to be rude. I’m just asking a simple question here.”

Tony lowers his glasses enough to look the guy over, then leans into his space. “Sue me.”

The reporter blanches so beautifully that Tony doesn’t even try to temper his grin. A few flashes go off, so he gives the rest of the public a wave, then turns around, shifting the reporter out of their space with his body. He slides an arm around Steve’s waist, sandwiching Sarah between them. “Sweetheart, you want orange juice?”

The other reporter waits until they have their food, which is fairly smart in theory. For anyone with street smarts, however, the stupidity of accosting Steve Rogers while his child is within arm’s reach needs no embellishment. 

“Captain Rogers. Captain, please, a moment of your time,” and Steve slows to a stop, his body stilling in a very particular way. His eyes fix on their target, and that same blue that warms Tony down to his DNA has the capacity for such chilling depth. 

“Let me make this very clear,” Steve says, quietly. “I am not interested.”

“I just have one question,” the guy barrels on, and Steve’s a patient guy, but when that goes... Tony has just decided to intervene, for the reporter’s sake, really, when—

“Son?” Sarah pipes, sticking her hand out like a stop sign. “Just don’t.”

Steve’s head whips around so fast he almost drops the waffles he’s carrying. Tony can’t help himself; he laughs, hard enough to bend him over, bracing against his thigh, his own waffle wobbling in one hand. By the time he looks up, Steve’s grinning ear to ear. He presses Sarah close for a noisy kiss.

“And on that note.” Tony swipes the reporter’s phone, finds his way into the video files, and deletes everything he just recorded. He hands it back to the guy, who seems to be gaping at all three of them equally now. “Have a good one.”

Once they’ve cleared the crush, Tony takes Sarah’s waffle from Steve and cuts her a bite, then holds it out. Steve pauses so Sarah can lean down and take it into her mouth. Even so, syrup smudges her chin, and Sarah grins at them cheekily, her teeth covered in masticated waffle.

“Beautiful, honey,” Tony says, even though he knows Steve’ll just tell him not to encourage her. “That was a quote for the ages.” 

And when Steve gives him the evil eye, as promised, Tony kisses him.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Because [WAFELS AND DINGES](http://www.wafelsanddinges.com/), oh em gee.


End file.
